


torture and cheese fries

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy chases Brock, F/M, TripleAgent!Rumlow, blind dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21114776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Brock Rumlow really wishes he hadn't agreed to go on this blind date with Foster's assistant...





	1. Set Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“So,” Darcy said cheerfully, “tell me about yourself?” Brock Rumlow looked at her across the table and repressed a sigh. Darcy Lewis was a nice girl, of course. Jack wouldn’t set him up with someone terrible. Everyone was too conscious of his injuries to hurt his feelings by setting him up a woman who would be cruel about his scars and mangled ear. But this was like being on a date with your coworker’s kid sister. Brock felt  _ old.  _ He had worn a suit and she was wearing a chunky sweater and carrying a messenger bag festooned with little patches and buttons. He’d noticed one was about cheese fries, for fuck’s sake. There was no possible way she could be a good partner for him.

“Nothing much to tell, sweetheart,” he said. He glanced around at the place. It was supposedly a trendy new steakhouse, but it was taking forever for their food. Darcy smiled at him gently.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said. 

“Trust me,” he told her, wincing at the loud drunks sitting behind them. Everything seemed irritating and off-putting to him tonight. Even the perfectly nice girl across from him—the one who was half his age, he thought sourly.

He couldn’t make himself be conversational, so the evening gradually got more somber. She asked questions, he dodged; she told funny stories, he nodded politely. Brock decided he clearly wasn’t there yet. In no state for a romance with anyone. He’d paid for dinner and she’d left when Brock called Jack on the phone. “I felt like Chris fucking Hanson was going to show up with a camera crew, Jack. You set me up with a goddamned kid?” Brock was saying, when Darcy appeared at his elbow.

“The kid forgot her scarf,” she said dryly, retrieving it from her side of the booth. 

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“For the record, I’m thirty-two,” Darcy said, seemingly amused.

“You are?” Brock said, stunned. He was so surprised, he accidentally hung up the phone. He was looking between her and his phone screen when she actually fucking zinged him. 

“Which makes you  _ really _ old, because that’s who thinks people in their thirties look like babies,” she teased. “Grandparents.”

“No shit,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “I’m old,” he murmured.

“Uh huh. See you at work, Pops!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's "Mean Girls" inspired cheese fries pin looks like this in my head: https://www.instagram.com/p/BD4GFptmX5E/?taken-by=bandofweirdos


	2. Do Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing

Brock expected that Darcy Lewis would hate him. Maybe snub him at work. But to his surprise, she went out of her way to be friendly. Of course, her efforts at friendliness included things like bringing brownies by the STRIKE office, tying balloons to his desk on his birthday, and generally talking his ears off whenever they met. Usually about the oddest subjects: A puppy she’d rescued in New Mexico. How great warm tortilla chips were compared to room-temperature ones when they ran into each other at his favorite place. Socks. She caught him having coffee near work, in the elevators, at SHIELD parties, even once at a drugstore. If he wasn’t scrupulous about personal security, he’d have been paranoid that she bugged his vehicle with a GPS tracker or some shit. But no. It just seemed like they happened to like the same coffee place, salsa, dogs, and keeping their feet warm. He expressed as much to Jack and the Australian gave him a look. “What?” Brock said.

“Did you think I bloody set you up with her because I thought you wouldn’t get along?” Jack asked.

“It would never work,” Brock insisted. Jack still wanted him to get out there. So, he went out with older women instead, women who were in public relations, or SHIELD’s legal department. Appropriate women, he thought. Age-appropriate, career-appropriate, clothes-appropriate, the whole package. Somehow, it never seemed to work quite right, though; the public relations specialist had wanted him to spend Thanksgiving with her in the Caribbean, not at his mother’s. Brock had promised his Ma that he would spend more time with his family, now that he was able to. He picked his mother. That ended his brief attempt at a tidy, PR-friendly, grown up relationship. Then there was a rougher breakup with Miranda from SHIELD’s legal department, once he realized she was uncomfortable with the way people stared at his burns in public or said things. He buried himself in work and swore off dating again.

He was working late at his desk one night when Darcy passed the door, stopped, and trotted in. Grabbing Jack’s rolling chair and spinning it around, she did a little turn before she rolled next to him and put her feet on his desk. “Wheeeeee!” she said. “That was fun.”

“Hi,” he said dryly, eyeing her chunky boots. She was wearing socks with pretzels on them. Typical. 

“Brock, do you know Kris Jensen’s music?” she asked. She tended to start mid-thought with him now. “From the sixties?”

“I’m not _that _fucking old, Lewis.”

“But listen to this,” she insisted, making him take an earbud. A male voice warbled in his ear. He blinked as Darcy shimmied in her chair. 

“Who are you torturing?” Brock teased. “Me?” That was what the song was about.

“Pffht, excuse me. I’m the one being unfairly tortured here,” she said, blowing out air in mock-affront.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “By who?”

“You!” she said, grinning at him.

“Me?” he said, feeling incredulous.

“You stubbornly refuse to cooperate with my plans,” she said. 

“Your plans?” he said.

“I want you to take me to the office Christmas party,” she said. 

“Oh. That,” he said, frowning. “I hate that party.”

“I know, I thought we could go together, actually have fun. But you persist in not falling in love with me, which is really disrupting how this all went in my head,” she told him.

“How’s that again?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

“You become smitten with me on our first date, I comfort you with my ample bosoms, everyone’s happy,” she said. “There’s a lot of naked and happy at the same time.” He chuckled.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You don’t lack for imagination.” 

“We’re weeks behind schedule,” she told him. He frowned. 

“Why do you want me to be your date, really?” he asked. He couldn’t see what she’d want with him, either. Sure, his abs were sturdy, underneath their scars, but people cringed at his face now. Visibly. No one like her could handle that kind of pressure. When he looked up, she was grinning at him.

“I have an astonishing weakness for older men,” she said, drawling out the words. “Especially broodingly attractive STRIKE commanders who make me feel like I’m a delicate woman in need of their protection from the big, dangerous world.” Brock looked at her wryly. “What?” Darcy said. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Lewis, you’re wearing pretzel socks and you tased Thor,” he said.

“So?” she said. “I’ve got a good dress for the Christmas party. No pretzels. You’ll be impressed–” she was saying, as Phil Coulson walked into the office. He was in town briefly for a meeting with Fury.

“Commander Rumlow,” he said. “Darcy Lewis.”

“Phil!” Darcy said. “Make him take me to the Christmas party!”

“No,” Phil said.

“Why don’t you go with Phil, Miss _‘I Like Older Men’_?” Brock asked. “He’s an older man.” He gestured at Phil.

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Phil said. Darcy scoffed. 

“Because Melinda knows a bajillion ways to kill me, duh,” Darcy said. 

“Yes,” Phil said, looking relieved. “She does.” 

“I’m not stupid,” Darcy said. “I want a single date, too. That seems like a basic requirement for a Christmas party.” 

“Eh,” Rumlow said, shrugging. “I’ve had some good dates with non-single women.” Darcy frowned.

“That’s very cynical,” she told him. “Was he always this jaded?” 

“Yes,” Rumlow cut in quickly. Phil made a funny face, cleared his throat, and then sat down his paperwork. 

“Shouldn’t you people be at home? Your own, individual homes?” he asked awkwardly.

“Reports,” Rumlow said grimly.

“Yeah,” Phil said, nodding. Then he looked at Darcy.

“Jane has a new doohickey,” Darcy said. “I’ll be here until the end of time, unless I sneak some benadryl into her snacks.”

“You do that?” Brock said.

“You’ve never really talked to Jane, have you?” Phil said.

“She’s started finding them,” Darcy confided, looking sad. “Because they’re so pink.”

“That is unfortunate,” Phil told her. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Phil!” Darcy called, turning in her chair to watch him leave. When she turned back and couldn’t see his face, Phil paused.

_“Take her,”_ he mouthed at Brock. Brock gave him a look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kris Jensen's 1960s song, "Torture" popped up for me this week, so I thought I'd put it in a story, 'cause I'd never heard of him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cakO7rkS7g


	3. Papadopoulos is Just Fun to Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy hung around watching him do reports after Phil left, then suddenly stood. “You’re leaving?” Brock asked, then scolded himself for the note in his voice. He shouldn’t encourage her. 

“Well, Papadopoulos,” she said, “I need food--”

“Papadopoulos?”

“I’ve decided it’s more formal than Pops, if I’m giving you a Grandpa nickname, it should be impressive, right?” she teased. He snorted. “Also,” Darcy added, “it’s fun to say. Try it. Papadopoulos.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said dryly.

“Besides, I’ll be back,” she said.

“You haven’t given up on me, huh?” he said.

“Nope!” she said, before she disappeared around the corner. Brock sighed and looked at his laptop. He adjusted his reading glasses and squinted at the screen, but his mind drifted. He couldn’t stop thinking about her persistent pursuit of him. What was he supposed to do about it? Should he take Lewis to the Christmas party? She would probably make the evening more bearable. Entertaining, even. Still, that might count as leading her on, he thought guiltily. He shouldn’t lead on someone he wasn’t serious about. And it was time to get serious, really. If he still had a chance at all. A nagging voice told him that he’d missed his window. He’d waited too long, between his own reluctance to commit and his undercover work, to look for something serious. Now he had the burden of his scarred face and he was fifty fucking years old. He felt worn out. He could still work and do his job, because that didn’t remind him of his injuries. It was when he went out and tried to socialize with someone new that he was bluntly reminded of his scars. He was thinking these gloomy thoughts when there was a rattling sound in the hallway. Darcy came around the corner pushing a cart. “Ta-da! My connection came through!” she announced.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s food. I decided to feed you. You looked like you had a case of computer screen-itis.”

“How’d you manage that?” he wondered out loud, as she unveiled what looked like a restaurant meal next to his desk. The gate guard didn’t let in strange vehicles.

“Cameron Klein is my inside man,” she said, grinning.

“Klein? He hates me,” Rumlow said. “I held a gun on him when I was undercover--”

“I know,” Darcy said brightly, “I think he views me as your punishment. He’s very pro me chasing you around.”

“Jesus,” Brock said out loud, chuckling. “Klein carted a steak over here for that?”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Not just a steak, steak frites, it’s very impressive. He even paid before I sent him the cash electronically.”

It was a pretty pleasant meal, for steak au poivre in your cubicle, Brock thought. Darcy was telling him a funny story when he felt himself turn a little, his mood deflating again. It was too bad she was so much younger than him. People would make fun of them, probably. “What?” she said.

“Hmm?”

“You sighed. Audibly,” she told him, waving her fork sternly. “What’s going on up there?”

“Up there?” he said.

“In your braincase,” she clarified. “I see you overthinking, Commander.”

“You’re a very good person,” he told her, sighing, “but we’re in different places in our lives.”

“Oh really?” she said. 

“I’m ready to settle down with somebody,” he said quietly. “I feel like I might’ve missed that, Lewis. I can’t just casually date--”

“Who says I’m not ready for commitment?” she said archly.

“C’mon,” he said. “You don’t look ready.”

“Because I wear fun socks?” she said, actually laughing at him. “You, sir, are a complete idiot.”

“You want to date a complete idiot, huh?” he said back.

“Wait, I retract that,” Darcy said. “90% of you is obviously intelligent. I’m trying to save you from your own terrible dating instincts.”

“Excuse me?” Brock said. “What’s that mean?”

“It means, goober--give me that laptop,” she ordered, balancing it precariously on her lap and typing furiously, once he handed it over. “You think you need to be with someone boring to be a grown up and it’s leading you right into danger.”

“I what?” he said, slightly offended.

“Eat your food,” she told him. “I’m going to change your whole life.” Brock snorted, but ate his garlic spinach obediently. “Here,” Darcy said, passing it back to him. “I overheard that Miranda is in debt. Major debt.”

“You hacked Miranda’s credit score?” Brock said, stunned. Miranda was his ex from SHIELD legal.

“I’m actually good at that,” Darcy said. “But look, okay--her credit’s lousy and she’s right on the edge of being denied promotion.” She tapped the internal SHIELD clearance forms that assessed employees’ risks for blackmail. “Some of it is law school debt, but she appears to have a really bad expensive shoe problem, her finances are a mess,” Darcy explained. “Not exactly responsible, huh?”

“This is a violation of her privacy,” Brock said sternly. Then he faltered as his eyes scanned the screen. 

“Okay, I’ll own that. I violated her privacy. But I’ve also met her and she was a total bitch to me for no reason--” Darcy began.

“She knew you flirted with me, that’s partially your fault,” he said, grinning. “That was her reason.” He blinked at the screen again. “Shit, that’s really low. She’s got creditors calling?”

“Would you have even thought to look?” Darcy asked pointedly. 

“No,” he admitted. Then he looked at her cannily. “What’s your credit score?”

“It was 820 when SHIELD checked it, I’m on track to pay off my student loans in four to six months, and I’m excellent at operating on a budget,” she said briskly. She came around to his side and clicked a few buttons, so he could see her report. “Thank you very much.”

“Point taken,” Brock said, grinning slightly at her affront. She and Jane lived cheaply, he realized. He remembered stories about Jane turning down SHIELD job offers to travel around the world and do ad hoc research. He hadn’t thought through what that might mean for Darcy.

“Also, fun socks are like eight dollars but I’m somehow less mature than the woman who probably has eighty thousand dollars in law school debt, but spent four _ hundred _bucks on one pair of shoes?” Darcy said, still miffed-sounding. She rolled her eyes.

“I thought she was doing okay,” Brock admitted. He might’ve been fooled by her expensive wardrobe and nice car, he realized. “Shit,” he said out loud, suddenly wondering if she’d been interested in him for his Crossbones pay; when he’d gone undercover to steal things back for Fury, he’d been sure he would die, so he’d negotiated a value recovered percentage fee for everything he got back from HYDRA and made arrangements for it to go to his mother and sister in the event he got shot. 

“What is it?” she asked. He looked at Darcy. Her expression was worried. She looked doubtful. He’d never seen her look hesitant. “Don’t be mad, please,” she said. “I just thought you might need to know.”

“It’s not very mature to stalk somebody’s girlfriends, though,” he said wryly. 

“I only did it to make a point to you,” Darcy said. “That appearances aren’t everything. Just because someone _ looks _ responsible from the outside doesn’t mean that they actually are.”

“Altruistic snooping?” he said, grinning in spite of himself.

“To protect you! If I was dating someone who was bad news or wanted Jane’s research or whatever, wouldn’t you warn me?” she asked, leaning back and seeming to study him carefully.

“Possibly,” he said. “But even if she’s in debt, that doesn’t make her a bad choice for me.” 

“Seriously?” Darcy said. She looked at him incredulously. 

“Yes. I’m not going to report you for this, Lewis, but you’ve gotta stop, okay?” Brock said, sighing. He wagged his finger at her. “No snooping and no meddling and no hacking,” he said. She looked at him petulantly. The expression was so paradoxically reminiscent of his mother’s when she was disappointed in him for spoiling her schemes at matchmaking that he actually laughed. 

“You’re laughing at me now?” she said.

“That face you’re making reminds me of my mother,” he told her. “Ma’s been doing that face at me for decades, Lewis. It don’t work. I’m stubborn.”

“Never?” she said.

“Nope,” he said.

“Where’s your mom?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious. He caught the gleam in her eye.

“Nuh-uh, Lewis,” he said. “I’m not letting the two of you collaborate.”

“Are you saying she would agree with me?” Darcy sassed back, grinning. 

“No comment,” he said. “Now, shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“Only if Jane’s Benadryl is working,” she said. Her expression had gone glum. 

“I’ll walk you up,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said. “Walk me up?”

“I’m old, Lewis. This is the kind of thing old men do after they have dinner with somebody,” he joked. 

“And you could probably carry her to my car,” Darcy said, eyeing his arms in a way that made him really grin. He wasn’t immune to vanity. Not entirely, anyway. Plus, she made him laugh with a Fury joke in the elevator. He dismissed the nagging thought that he really ought to take her to the damn party by reminding himself that she was too emotionally invested. She liked him, that much was obvious. It really was a pity they didn’t have more in common…”What is it?” Darcy asked, breaking his chain of thought.

“No more snooping,” he scolded gently.

“You’re being such a funsucker, Papadopoulos,” she sassed him. It was impossible not to laugh.

They found Jane passed out on her machinery. “I didn’t know PhDs drooled so much,” Brock said wryly. 

“It’s a surprising amount,” Darcy told him. “Let me wake her up first, she tends to bite if startled.” 


	4. Cam Wants To Call Him Meatball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @wheresarizona sent me the most hilarious video of a cat on a treadmill and I loved it so much I decided this Darcy would be the one to adopt a similar cat. It was meant to be. 
> 
> Link to video: https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/dmlzcj/cinderblocks_first_time_on_the_treadmill_trying/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Brock assumed Darcy would continue to pester him about the Christmas party until he gave in, but he didn’t see her for over a week. He was sitting at his desk one afternoon when he heard footsteps and looked up expectantly. It was a passing agent, who nodded politely. “Hello,” Brock said, swallowing his disappointment. He looked at his wall clock. It was five-seventeen. He could be here for hours, he realized, with a heavy sigh. God, he was messed up. Why was he lonely like this? And missing someone who was so inappropriate for him? It must be something wrong in his mind. His life was tedious, for a fucking start. And Brock couldn’t stop thinking about Darcy. He’d been quietly expecting her to show up for at least two or three days. He realized that he actually missed her random drop ins, her sugar cookies, and her socks. He stood up and decided to get some coffee from the break room, just to interrupt his malaise. “Get your shit together,” he told himself firmly, shaking his head. There were voices in the break room. He increased his pace slightly, wondering if Lewis and Foster were working late. He turned sharply into the room at the sound of laughter, then stopped.

It was Cameron Klein and Sharon Carter. They looked at him curiously. “Hello, Commander Rumlow,” Sharon said. Cam nodded.

“Hello,” Brock said. “Just here for, uh, coffee.” Sharon gave him a faint smile. 

“So, she adopted the cat?” she was asking Cam. Rumlow tuned them out with a sigh. He was brewing a fresh cup when he realized that Cameron was talking to him. 

“Oh, sorry. What?” Brock asked.

“I said, do you know what Darcy’s named the cat?” he asked.

“The cat?” Brock said blankly.

“She adopted a cat,” Sharon explained.

“Oh,” Brock said.

“He’s got a mild weight problem,” Cam said, handing Brock his phone. On the screen was an Instagram photo of Darcy holding an extremely fluffy, rotund cat. The cat was big--not overweight so much as large. He looked like he’d been photoshopped to seem oversized in her lap.

“Is he part lynx?” Brock wondered aloud. “Or Asgardian?” That made Sharon laugh.

“Right? He’s massive!” Sharon said.

“I didn’t know she was adopting a cat,” he said, feeling unaccountably left out.

“She was talking about naming him Meatball,” Cam said. “I vote for Meatball.”

“Nah, when she texted me, she’d vetoed Meatball because it might hurt his self-esteem,” Sharon said.

“Boooo,” Cam said. Brock told them goodbye quietly and left with his coffee. He grimaced at the cup when it burned his lip slightly. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, going back to the warren of STRIKE cubicles. He sat down in the room, alone. Above his head, the fluorescents buzzed faintly. He sighed. They were supposed to replace them with quieter LED bulbs, he’d been told. He might actually miss that sound. Next, they’d take his desk phone, he mused, and then he’d be the only relic who could remember that office lights used to buzz faintly and desk phones used to have blinking lights to indicate phone lines. Or the precise sound of the internet when it fed through phone lines, screeching if you picked them up at the wrong moment. He still had a landline. He might be the only person who didn’t just have a cell phone instead, he thought. Certainly, nobody ever called that line. Why did he still have one? Because that was the way he’d always done things? He rubbed his jaw. Brock felt tired. His mind drifted back to Darcy Lewis and her new cat. She’d done what he asked, obviously. Decided he was too old, too scarred, and too tired for her. And now she was moving on, getting a pet. Probably meeting other people, he thought. There would be no more of her stopping by or calling him that silly nickname. He felt that wave of loneliness again. Stupid. He was stupid. He knew all the ways they’d never work, he reminded himself. He should just get over them, these weird conflicted feelings. It was because Darcy had been kind to him. He worked on two more reports. Had a protein bar at his desk and drank the coffee. When he went back to the break room, it was empty. Even the cleaning staff had gone home. He thought he might be the only person still working this late. For a few minutes after he sat down, he stared at his laptop screen. Then he did another report. Solved a problem with some training schedules. If he tried, he could work sixteen hour days easily. When he looked up at the clock, taking off his reading glasses, he realized it was after nine. What could he do now? He would go to the on-site gym; he’d been in the morning, but he often exercised twice a day.

He left half the gym lights off. He didn’t mind the dark, it was easier to run when he couldn’t see the way the sweat gleamed on his scarred skin. Not that he’d ever enjoyed running. He was jogging and swearing vividly on the treadmill when he heard someone slowly opening the door and looked up to see Darcy across the darkened gym. For a second, he thought he was hallucinating. She was peering in, looking for the source of the treadmill sound, but he was probably difficult to see. “Darcy?” he said. She jumped.

“Ahhh!” she shrieked. Then she must’ve recognized him. “Brock? You scared--” she began, walking into the room. That was when a very large cat hopped out of her messenger bag. She scrambled and he pulled the emergency switch and hurried over to help. She’d caught the cat by the time Brock made it over. The fluffy tabby was wiggling and Darcy was crouched over him, looking oddly like a turtle when she glanced up at him. “You startled m---wow,” she said. Her jaw dropped.

“Huh?” he said, confused.

“You-you look good without a shirt,” she said, cheeks turning pink and blotchy. 

“Ugh,” he said, looking down at his scars. “Not so much, sweetheart,” he said grimly. There was an awkward pause. “You, uh, looking for me?” he asked, hearing the hopeful note in his voice and feeling a little embarrassed at his own obviousness. Also, that she’d seen him shirtless. The scars on the front of his body--where parts of the Triskelion’s forty-first floor ceiling had landed on him--were his worst and deepest. He usually kept his shirt on. 

“Um, no,” Darcy admitted. Her eyes flicked up to his chest and back to the cat again. He realized the tops of her ears were red. “I didn’t think anyone would be here. I wanted to sneak him on a treadmill.”

“You wanted to sneak your cat into a gym?” Brock said, chuckling.

“Yes?” she said. 

The cat was sitting on the edge of a treadmill in a harness, one leg moving with the belt, and meowing piteously when she explained. “He’s clinically overweight,” Darcy said.

“Sure,” Brock said, nodding. He’d put on a shirt, but she kept looking at him and biting her lip anyway. His sense of conflict had escalated. Also, she looked great in yoga pants. Even covered in cat hair.

“So we tried the wet treadmill--” Darcy said.

“The what?” Brock said.

“The vet’s underwater treadmill,” she clarified. “But he hates it. So, I thought, he’s a cat, cats hate water sometimes, maybe he doesn’t want to do underwater treadmill, but dry treadmill would be fine. Only I needed a dry treadmill to try,” she said.

“Sure,” Brock repeated. The cat meowed again. Mournfully. 

“I think he hates both of them,” Darcy said in a sad voice. 


	5. The Cat Fanciers of Upstate New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Thanks, Papadapoulos,” Darcy told him, as he walked her and the cat to her car. The cat was yowling every few minutes inside her messenger bag. He stuck his head out and made a mournful sound again. Brock chuckled. 

“That’s the most pitiful sound I’ve ever heard and I went through basic training with guys who were so homesick they cried themselves to sleep at night,” he said.

“I think exercise makes him sad,” Darcy said.

“Exercise makes the cat sad?” Brock said.

“It makes me sad. I cried just like that when Jane made me go to spin class,” Darcy said. He laughed.

“You need to model positivity for your cat, Lewis,” he joked. “How will he learn to enjoy his cardio if he hears you trash-talkin’ spin class?”

“Did you just make a joke?” Darcy said, beaming at him. “An actual joke?”

“Eh,” he muttered, shrugging.

“My baby made a joke,” she said. “I’m so proud of you! If I wasn’t carrying a cat, I’d clap, Brock.”

“Sure you would,” he said, holding the building’s exit door to the parking garage open for her. The fluorescents were bright, but the garage wasn’t the safest place in the world. A mugger could easily hide behind the few cars still there. As if she’d read his mind, Darcy spoke.

“You really don’t have to walk me out,” she said.

“You don’t read DC crime statistics, do you?” Brock said, quietly noting their surroundings and listening for footsteps. 

“I have my taser,” she said, tilting her chin up piquantly. She had nerve. He told her so. She giggled at him.

“Don’t giggle,” he scolded. “This is serious business. Garage safety and feline obesity are major issues impacting you single women, Lewis.” Darcy laughed, then stuck her tongue out.

“I wasn’t aware you even knew I was single, Commander,” she said. “And wait just a second, are you implying I’m a sad single woman, what with my cat and all? Because then we will have a conversation--a long, detailed conversation, mister--about how late _ you _work and what that says about sad, aging men.”

“Aging?” he said. “Aging?”

“I was going to say middle aged, but really, that’s only if you live to be a hundred,” she said, a wicked glint in her eye. “You might be verging on elderly—”

“Don’t you finish that sentence, woman,” he said. She laughed. She had a great laugh, he thought. Warm. He pushed the thought away she unlocked her car, put the cat in a car seat, and turned to face him again.

“What’s that face, Brock?”

“I’m imagining you buying a car seat for a cat,” he said. 

“Excuse me for caring about pet safety,” she said. “I’ve had a very busy week, buying him everything he needs to stay alive. Food, heartworm meds, those little sparkly toys….”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “That’s where you been, huh?”

“Did you miss me?” she asked. Damn, he thought. He’d said too much. He tilted his head, made his face neutral.

“Not much,” he said. “I kept wondering where all the food and noise went.”

“Come back to my place,” she said. He thought her grin was sly. “That’s where I keep all my food and my best sounds, I swear.”

Brock almost choked on his tongue. 

He didn’t go home with her, of course. He sent her home with a promise that he’d give her a hand with her feline exercise plan. “How will you do that?” Darcy said, safely buckled in her car. She’d rolled the window down before he was able to walk away. He wanted to hustle, before he was tempted. He shrugged slightly, dodging the question. 

“I know a guy,” he said. “Go home--and roll that window up and lock your doors.”

“I locked them already!” she said.

Brock got home and looked around his empty apartment. Was she asleep, he wondered? He picked up the phone and dialed. “Hey,” he said. “It’s me. You sleepin?”

“No,” his mother said, though she had clearly been asleep. Her voice was heavy and drowsy-sounding.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Sure you weren’t.”

“I nodded off during Seth Meyers. Mr. Federal Agent,” she said. “But I’m not in bed yet. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine. I’m good, Ma.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, mimicking his tone. “What’s bothering you?”

“Something’s gotta be wrong for me to call?”

“At this time of night?” she said. She snorted. “Somebody better be shot or dead. Usually, it’s Phil calling me to say you’re one or the other.”

“I’m all right, Ma. You knew I was never officially dead,” he objected. She liked to pretend like she’d thought he was dead when she was cranky, but he knew better. Her mind was perfectly sharp for a seventy year old woman.

“As good as…” she muttered. He scoffed.

“Nevermind that, I need your help with, uh, a project?” he said. “It’s cat-related.”

“Cat-related?” his mother said, voice alert. He could tell she’d sat up. “Did you finally get a cat?”

“No, no, you know I travel too much, but my coworker has one and she needs some help—”

“She?” his mother said.

“I knew you’d focus on that,” he said, sighing.

“Well,” his mother said, “is she a good candidate?” He’d discussed his desire to settle down with his mother; she was fully supportive. They’d mapped out a list of qualities he should be looking for together, debating the traits that made someone able to handle his work and his past. Brock had been ready to move quickly then, before the disappointment with Miranda. He hadn’t known then that his face would be such an issue. A substantial part of him still wanted to have kids while his mother was alive to meet them.

“Nah,” he said. “She’s got good credit, Ma, but she’s a little young for me, probably not right for my timetable.”

“Oh,” his mother said. “Well, there’s billions of women on the planet.”

“Sure,” he said. “But my more relevant issue is that she’s got a cat who needs to lose weight and I told her I knew somebody.”

“Ohhh,” his mother said. “I can help. You know, Rajah’s blood work came back excellent this week.”

“Oh, yeah? Good for him,” Brock joked. What Brock hadn’t told Darcy was that his mother had moved to upstate New York when she retired, mostly to breed Tonkinese cats. She ran the local cat fanciers’ association and sometimes judged cat shows. He was slightly terrified that they’d get along. It was entirely possible that Darcy owned socks with cats on them and that his mother would find that charming. “So, you got fat cat resources for me?” he asked.

“Tsk,” his mother scolded. “Don’t say fat, just because you have none.”

“I have some,” he argued. They bickered while she found articles on her laptop about cat exercises and activities and emailed them to him. Brock found himself talking about Darcy and the cat. How she’d kept trying to coax it onto the treadmill and then begging it to walk. “She actually got down on the floor and tried to talk to him on his level,” he said, chuckling.

“How young is she?” his mother said suddenly, voice flinty. He’d told her about the blind date and then Darcy surprising him with dinner, too. 

“Thirty, uh, something?” he said. “Thirty two.”

“That’s not so young.”

“She seems younger than her age,” he said. “Real young.” He could hear his mother typing. Her keyboard keys were clacking. Then she gasped. “Ma?” he said.

“This girl knows Thor! I’ve seen her in _ People _magazine,” she said. “She does look young.”

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s Thor’s girlfriend’s assistant. Jane Foster, the astrophysicist? That’s Darcy’s boss.”

“Uh-huh. Your friend looks young because she dresses like a college kid, really,” she said. “With the coffee and those sneakers and big sweaters—”

“Yeah.”

“I can see why you wouldn’t be interested in her,” his mother said. “She’s a little plain, too, isn’t she?” 

“No,” he said quickly. “She’s great-looking.”

“Really? It’s so hard to tell with glasses, honey,” she said casually. “And it’s one of those papparazzi photos that make everyone look like they just rolled out of bed.”

“She’s beautiful, trust me,” he grumbled.

“Oh, yeah?” his mother said, in that same faintly surprised voice. For some reason, that got under his skin.

“Darcy’s...she’s got a gorgeous face,” he admitted. “Really beautiful for somebody who looks young enough to be my daughter.” He sighed, in spite of himself and then realized that there was a sound coming from the phone. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“I’m enjoying the sound of my fifty year old son realizing he has a crush on a girl,” she cracked. “I haven’t heard you talk like that since at least 1984.”

“Ma,” he said. “C’mon. You know my situation. I don’t think she’s where I’m at--”

“No, she’s already committed to a cat,” his mother joked. “Which I’ve never been able to get you to do.”

“This is just, you know, a regular cat. Not like your cats. Shelter cat,” he said. “Only huge. And chatty as fuck.” His mother snorted. Then she sent him some article about clever ways to make your cat move.

“Tell her about the probiotics,” she said. “Those work. And the feeding balls force them to work for food.”

“Work for food,” he repeated, taking notes.

“You’re sure you aren’t interested?” she asked.

“I don’t have time,” he said. “I need to get serious with somebody appropriate, Ma, you know that.”

“And you’re doing this because?” she said, sounding amused.

“She’s been nice to me,” he said quietly. 


	6. The Most Difficult Man in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I need help,” Darcy’s voice said on the other end of his desk phone. Brock had been doing some evals when the phone rang. “It’s about Noisy.” They’d been spending more time together since she got the cat. Mostly in the gym after work, trying to teach it to use the treadmill. Or taking it to pet stores to look for toys that got him interested in moving. The cat had lost two-tenths of a pound. Darcy still couldn’t decide what to name him. Brock had voted for “Noisy” because the cat constantly meowed, but then Darcy had pouted. But somehow, they’d started using the name anyway. He was telling himself that he could be her friend without it turning romantic. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t want Hill to see my cat. What if she bans him?” Darcy said, sounding anxious.

“Why would she do that?” he asked.

“Because she’s bringing by some Congressional VIPs to tour the lab in like, six minutes!” Darcy said. “And he cries when I put him in a carrier. You know how loud he gets. I’m panicking here--would Congresswoman Jackson believe he was a fake research subject, Jane?” she asked. “Jane says no. We don’t have live animal permits. There might be questions. Or protests.”

“I’ll be right there,” Brock said. He hurried up to the lab and Darcy passed him the cat under a coat. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered hurriedly.

“You’re welcome,” he said, smirking.

“His leash and harness are on,” Darcy said. Then she went pale. Brock glanced back and saw Hill and the delegation down the hall. They were touring another lab first. “Shit,” Darcy whispered. “I need to check for cat hair! Be good, Noisy.” She patted the jacket.

“I’ll go,” Brock said, tightening his grip on the wriggling cat. “You gotta name this guy for real, Lewis.”

“I know. You’re the best,” she told him, warmth in her voice. “I’d tell you I love you, but you might not come back.” She grinned at him.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking and jutting out his chin. “I might not. Call me with the all clear,” he told her. He turned and walked away casually. When he looked back at her for a second, Darcy was frantically rolling the cat hair off her sweater with one of those tape pet hair removers. He resisted the urge to laugh. Brock got on the elevator, shifted the cat, and leaned down to speak to the bundle in his arms. “Your mom loves you,” he said out loud, “so don’t do anything crazy, all right?” The cat meowed. He cried for food constantly. “Uh-huh, deal,” Brock said. “I’ll feed you. Our secret, pal.”

He carried the cat to the nearest food truck and ordered it a sandwich. He’d googled things cats couldn’t eat, but felt fairly confident the cat could handle a cheese-free chicken panini. He fed the cat on a nearby bench and waited for Darcy to call. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t your diet,” he admitted sheepishly, as the cat rubbed it’s face against his arms, then started to purr. Eventually, Noisy crawled into his lap. Then his phone rang. “All clear?” he said, arms too full of cat to see the screen well before he answered.

“Where are you, mate?” Jack said.

“I’m, uh, running an errand,” Brock lied, smiling at a passing woman. She smiled back. He was noticing that people looked at the cat on a leash and didn’t seem as alarmed by his scars. Maybe he looked passably eccentric. Or like a sensitive type with his own therapy cat.

“An errand?” Jack said.

“Uh, yeah,” Brock said, scrunching his nose. “Medical, uh, thing.”

“Oh,” Jack said. “Because I heard from Sharon Carter that someone spotted you leaving the building with a cat. Darcy’s cat.”

“Jack,” Brock said. The Australian’s voice sounded a little pissy.

“Why are you lying to me? Are you actually dating her now?” Jack said.

“No. Look, we’re not dating. She had an emergency, I’m just cat-sitting for a few minutes,” Brock said. “It’s not a big thing, just a favor for a work friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said. “Good on ya.”

“Did you just sarcasm me in  _ Crocodile Dundee?” _ Brock said, blinking. Jack huffed and muttered to himself. “What? Spit it out,” he told Jack. He thought Jack had sworn at him.

“Fuck me dead,” Jack said, more loudly. 

“Excuse me?” Brock said, feeling his eyebrows raise. “You want me to what now?”

“I don’t mean--it’s not literal, it’s just an expression,” Jack said. “It means I cannot bloody believe that you’re doing this, but refusing to go on a proper date with her.”

“Very colorful,” Brock said. “Tell Cap that expression, he’ll love it.” Jack was still a bit awestruck where Steve Rogers was concerned. “You know how I feel about the Darcy situation,” Brock added more quietly. “She’s too young for me and all that shit. I’ve explained this. We’re just gonna be good friends.” Jack sighed dramatically again. 

“You’re a bloody fool,” he said.

“Sure, but you people got a real fucking flair for language,” Brock told him, chuckling. “The cat agrees with me. Fuck me dead, huh?”

“I know you’re saying that to avoid real feelings,” Jack muttered.

“I am?” Brock said.

“You know it,” Jack said grimly. “I sat through that PTSD and vulnerability seminar, too--”

“The one where I copied off your worksheet?” Brock asked.

“Just ask the bloody woman on a bloody date, you fuckwit,” Jack said, hanging up the phone abruptly. Brock heard the bonk of the call ending and grinned at Noisy. 

“We pissed him off,” he said. “Are you having as much fun as I’m having?” Noisy meowed and twitched his tail.

He wiggled the leash in his hand, but the cat steadfastly refused to walk after lunch. They were standing a block from the building when Darcy came outside. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you did that!” she announced, squeezing him in a hug. 

“Okay,” Brock said, chuckling.

“That horrible Congressman from Montana hates cats. He saw the hair on my sweater and went on a rant, it was insane,” she said. “Who notices cat hair on someone else’s sweater?” she asked, frowning, as she let him go.

“Obviously, a Congressman,” he said dryly. Darcy reached down and scooped up the cat with an oof.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said. Then she looked at Brock. “Can you let us in the side exits with your STRIKE key card?”

“Are you asking me to facilitate your cat smuggling?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t we get you and Jane some food first, huh?” he offered. “Food truck?”

“Yes,” she said, more brightly. “That is an amazing idea. I feel like I don’t tell you you’re amazing enough?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, turning to walk with her. “Is this the part where you ask me to take you to the Christmas party again?” he asked. To his surprise, her face changed. She paused and looked uncertain.

“Um, I made alternative plans for that night,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, feeling unaccountably sad. And stupid. God, he was an idiot. Of course she had another date lined up. “Well,” he said, “it’s really not a fun party, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” she said. They were quiet until she ordered and then started talking normally again. Almost too normally, he thought. Like she felt awkward. He looked at her as they carried the food back. “What is it?” Darcy said, catching his glance.

“He’s lucky,” Brock admitted. 

“What?” Darcy’s expression was confused.

“Your date to the Christmas party,” he said. 

“Ooooh,” Darcy said. Then she grinned at him. “Jealous?” she asked. Shouldering the cat onto one arm, she reached up and tapped the bottom of his chin with her other hand. Her fingers rubbed his stubble gently.

“Maybe,” he said, turning his head away slightly. He flicked his gaze towards her. “He a good guy?”

“Hmmm,” Darcy said. “Well, he’s not you, but he’s very sweet.”

“Good,” Brock said. He paused.

“What’s that face? I’ve never seen you make that face before,” she said. 

“I could run a background check for you?” he offered. “Just to make sure…”

“You know, I could always cancel my plans with him,” Darcy said. “Go with you instead?” She slid her arm around his.

“No, I mean, I don’t want to make your life difficult, baby,” he said.

“You’re like the most difficult man in the world,” she grumbled.

“Oh, you think I’m difficult, huh?” he said, grinning.

“Here I am, all cute,” Darcy said. “Perfectly willing to take my clothes off, either before or after pancakes—”

“Pancakes?” Brock said, eyebrows raised.

“This is what you pay attention to?” Darcy said. “I just enjoy breakfast foods on a flexible timeline.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, chuckling. “You’re offering me sex and pancakes?”

“Also, quality time with my adorable feline child,” she said. “All perfectly valid relationship benefits. Goals, you might say. Some men would be delighted.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. He swallowed. “Darcy…”

“Yes?” she said. He stopped. 

“I, uh, I want to get married, have a family,” he said quietly. They were standing a few feet from the side door into the SHIELD headquarters. He was holding her lunch in a paper bag. He felt oddly exposed. He was worried she’d roll her eyes at him.

“Okay,” she said. “I accept your proposal. I have to warn you, though. The women in my family get pregnant super easily, so you really need to be sure you’re ready for kids before we try.” She grinned up at him. 

“Don’t make a joke out of my sincere feelings,” he said, without resentment. He could feel himself grinning back, scars twisting.

“Who says I’m joking?” she said. “But you’re totally cleaning the litterbox if I’m preggo.”

“Cut it out,” he muttered, towing her and the cat towards the door and swiping his card. He looked at her as they snuck inside. “Having kids is serious. This is a serious conversation.”

“I know,” she said, stressing the second word. “They won’t let you return any of them, even if your child turns out to be something really terrible, like a serial killer or a Toby Keith fan.”

  
  
  


***

“So, then, she says to me, ‘I accept your proposal,’ like I’d just asked,” Brock said to his mother, laughing, as he met her at the airport. He’d invited her to fly down for the weekend. He was taking her to dinner. 

“Why don’t you call her? Invite her to dinner with us?” his mother said.

“What? No, Ma, you know how I feel about quality mother son time,” he said. “I want to hear how you’ve been doing.” He took her bags to put them in his car trunk. 

“Bullshit,” his mother muttered. “I want to meet her.”

“I heard that,” he said. When he got in the driver’s seat, he realized she was talking on the phone.

“What’s the name of this restaurant we’re going to?” his mother said to him, tilting the phone away from her face. 

“Filomena’s--who are you talking to?” he said, realizing it was his phone as she repeated the restaurant name brightly and then hung up. 

“Darcy’s meeting us for dinner,” his mother said, beaming at him.

“You hacked my phone,” Brock said slowly, “to invite Darcy to dinner?”

“It’s not hacking if someone is in your contacts,” his mother scoffed. 

  
  



	7. The Nerd And the Hot Cheerleader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Brock was wondering how they’d get along when he and his mother arrived at the restaurant. His mood wasn’t helped by the odd glances from a few pedestrians as they walked up to the entrance. A woman stared at his ear and scarred cheek, then looked embarrassed when he met her glance. “What’s wrong?” his mother said.

“Nothing,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Come inside, it’s chilly,” he added, when she hesitated and appeared to want to debate him in front of the restaurant. He smiled to reassure her and gave their name to the hostess.

“Don’t grimace at me,” his mother said, as they sat down. Darcy wasn’t there yet. He’d told the hostess to expect a third person.

“I’m not, Ma, I’m not, okay?” Brock said. “I’m not mad, I’m just...worried.” He felt slightly too warm. 

“I don’t understand what you’re worried about,” she said. “She seemed nice on the phone. You obviously like her—”

“Ma,” he said, trying not to bleat. “It’s not that. But I don’t want to”---he lowered his voice— “lead her on, all right? And she’s got another date for the Christmas party--”

“Hmmpfff,” she said. “Ridiculous.”

“Let’s, uh, talk about somethin’ else, okay?” Brock said. 

“Okay, Mr. Federal Agent, what are we talking about?” she asked, smiling at him in a particularly knowing way. She obviously thought he was dodging the topic of Darcy.

“Umm, uh, decorations?” he offered, feeling awkward already. He gestured. “Look at this place.” The restaurant was already decorated for Christmas; Filomena’s did decorations for Halloween, Christmas, and Easter. He’d gotten a recommendation from Sharon Carter about mother-friendly DC restaurants and this was at the top of her list. “See, Christmas trees,” he added. He tugged his collar a little and she burst out laughing.

“You’re panicking. Why are you panicking?” she asked. “You don’t panic.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his jaw. He inhaled slowly. “I just caught somebody, uh, looking at the ear outside,” he said. It was easier to say _ the ear. _ The ear was distant; it could belong to somebody else. Possibly. “I forget sometimes, is all,” he said. His mother was giving him a soft look. “I mean,” he said, rubbing his jaw and the back of his neck, “I think I look pretty good, all things considered.”

“Honey,” his mother said sympathetically. He took another deep breath to clear his head and looked up at her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Don’t make me cry in public, either.” He grinned and wagged a finger at her. “You behave with Darcy, too. She’s a nice kid.”

“She’s thirty-two,” his mother said. “And don’t wave your finger at me.”

“You’ve been waving that index finger at me for fifty years,” he teased.

“I’m allowed, I’m the mother,” she said. They moved to the safer topics of holiday decorations and if she and his sister wanted to bring the whole family to DC for Christmas. 

“I like that,” his mother said, pointing to some decorations. Brock glanced over and tried to figure out which ones she meant.

“The green ones or uh—-” he stopped. For a second, he lost his train of thought. It was Darcy. She was walking towards their table. Except he’d never seen her look like this before. Instead of her usual leggings and sweater, she looked like she’d dressed for a party. Or a date. A date she wanted to impress, he thought, letting his eyes move over her curves as she followed the hostess towards their table. She looked _ fantastic. _ “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“Honey?” his mother said.

“Here--here’s Darcy,” he choked out.

“Oh,” his mother said, smiling brightly. When she recognized Darcy some fifteen feet away, even his mother’s eyes went a little wide. Then she started to laugh.

“Why are you laughing? Did you put her up to wearing that?” he whispered, stuttering over the last word. The red dress was low cut and clingy, revealing every curve of her body.

“No,” she said, still laughing. “You didn’t mention she had that rack, honey.” 

“Oh God, please don’t—” he said, seeing her expression.

“Tell her she has great tatas?” his mother said. She looked gleeful. “Did you not know?” she asked. “You didn’t know!” she said.

“Be quiet,” Brock said, as Darcy approached. “She’ll hear you.” He watched her approach with a mixture of anxiety and arousal. How had he missed that body? 

“Hi,” Darcy said, beaming at him.

“Uh, hi,” he said, standing up awkwardly. “This is my mother, Angela. Ma, this is Darcy.”

“It’s nice meet you, Mrs. Rumlow,” Darcy said.

“Oh, call me Angela. Sit down, honey,” his mother said, “before my son drools on the floor. That is—”

“Ma,” Brock complained. He knew where she was going. His mother was straightforward, sometimes blunt.

“--a great dress,” she finished. “You have an amazing body.” Brock cringed. “He doesn’t want me to tell you that,” she added.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, laughing, “I’m not embarrassed.” She chose the chair next to his. As she was sitting down, she smiled at them. “But I save the girls for special occasions, otherwise, a lot of men behave like idiots,” she told his mother. 

“This is wise. He told me you were very bright,” Angela said, nodding. 

“I kinda prefer it when I know people like me for me,” she said, scrunching her nose. Then Darcy looked at him. She grinned. There was a naughty gleam in her eyes. “Which is why I wore a sweater on our first date. This is my Christmas party dress, by the way. I didn’t want you to miss it,” she said. 

“Oh,” Brock said. “It’s, uh, a good dress. Real nice.” As she chatted happily with his mother, he tried not to stare at her body. But it was difficult not to. He crossed his legs under the table and tried to keep his eyes on her face. _ Look at the face, _ he told himself, _ not the tits. Don’t stare at the tits. Goddammit. _ He couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting down. He realized he’d have probably been putty in her hands if she’d worn that on their first date. Which was upsetting to contemplate. Was he that shallow? _ No, _ he realized, _ she just looks that fuckable. It’s distracting. I’m gonna be all kinds of fucked up if I keep looking at her. _

“Something wrong?” Darcy said.

“Huh?” he said.

“You made a sound,” his mother supplied.

“Work, uh, stuff,” he lied. “You know, Ma breeds cats? Tonkinese?”

“She just told me,” Darcy said, giggling. “Like, two seconds ago.”

“It’s the dress,” his mother said. “He’s still processing you all done up, honey.”

“Will you stop saying that? You’ll upset her, ” he said, but Darcy merely laughed at him and looked pleased with herself. She shook her head.

“I’m not upset,” she said, “but obviously you are.” She smirked at him and waggled her eyebrows.

“I’m not,” he began, then lowered his voice, looking away. He inhaled again and let his breath out slowly. “You had to wear that, huh?” he asked wryly.

“Yes,” she said. “Just to make a point. It worked, huh?”

“It did something,” he admitted quietly. She looked delighted at that. He needed to change the subject. His mother was here, for Christ’s sake. He could keep his voice calm. He was fifty. Fifty year olds with highly demanding careers in anti-terrorism didn’t fall apart when their work friends wore a really good goddamn dress. She’d totally done it on purpose, he knew. Just to show him that she was capable of it. “All, right, you troublemakers, what the fuck are we ordering?” he said wryly. 

“Brock,” his mother scolded.

“He’s totally deflecting,” Darcy said. “He does that all the time.” Brock was going to object, but then a passing man--clearly wasted--leered at her and the edges of his vision went a little red. “Are you glaring at people now?” she said.

“That asshole? Yes,” he told her. “Switch seats with me?”

“Nobody puts me in a corner,” she sassed. 

“Jesus,” he muttered. Darcy waved the waiter over so they could order. He was sort of baffled that she didn’t want to use her appeal to her advantage. But he figured it out quickly. He spent the entire evening seesawing between lust, overprotectiveness, and the realization that absolutely no one would be looking at him or his burns if they were together and she dressed like this. Everyone stared at her. Waitstaff, patrons, men, women. People stopped to stare as she ate, for fuck’s sake. He had to restrain himself from being a wiseass to other patrons. It was slightly jarring. He’d thought of her as beautiful, yes, but not sexy. Women that sexy didn’t usually wear socks with penguins on them. Or tape Calvin & Hobbes cartoons to your desk.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, looking at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied. Her gestured with his fork. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” she said, looking at him wryly. “Sure.” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” his mother said. 

“I shouldn’t worry that you look a little warm?” Darcy said.

“No,” he said.

“So,” his mother said. “When’s this wedding I’ve heard about?” Darcy grinned back, telling Angela that she could arrange everything and tell them where to show up. 

“Excuse me?” Brock choked out, tearing his attention away from her shoulders. His eyes had been drifting again.

“I don’t really care about, like, centerpieces,” Darcy said. “So, you have my permission to plan everything.”

“What if I care about centerpieces?” Brock said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “What’s a centerpiece?”

“Uhhhh,” he said. “The thing. The table thing. Like that,” he said, pointing to one of the decorated restaurant tables.

“You have ideas about them? What kind of ideas?” Darcy said, cupping her chin. The gesture was distracting. He accidentally looked at her tits again. “Hmm?” she said, as he jerked his eyes up. His mother was watching avidly. It dawned on him that he was the one in the fucking corner now.

“They’re, uh, fine,” he said. “What were we talking about?”

“Weddings,” his mother supplied, then laughed.

  
  


“So, I think this might technically be our third date,” Darcy said, when he walked her to her car at the end of the night. “I’d ask you to come home with me, but you have a house guest.” She leaned against her car and smiled up at him.

“I do,” he said, grinning. His mother was waiting by the restaurant’s dessert case. 

“I like your mom,” she said. “She’s fun.”

“She likes you,” he said.

“It’s really a pity you don’t like me that much,” Darcy told him. She reached up and straightened the collar of his jacket. 

“What?” he said.

“It was crooked,” she said. “I fixed it.”

“I never said I didn’t like you—” he told her, frowning.

“Just my clothes and my socks and my age and my general attitude,” she said. “Goodnight, Brock.” She stood up on her toes and kissed him. It was a very careful kiss. Hesitant. He was surprised. But only for a moment. Brock tilted his head to deepen the kiss, cupping the side of her face. Her mouth was impossibly soft, he realized. Lush. They’d been kissing on the sidewalk when Darcy pulled back. “Sorry,” she said, smacking her lips together, “I’ll behave. I don’t want to end up on Santa’s naughty list.” Brock looked down at her for a second, blinking. He already missed the press of her body against his. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. 

“Tell Noisy I said hello,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “And, uh, I think that dress qualifies as a lethal weapon…”

“So, I shouldn’t wear it to the party?” she asked. She grinned and patted his shoulders in long, slow strokes. He had to look away and take a deep breath. 

“Mmmm,” he said. “You’re asking me?”

“I am,” she said. “I sort of want your opinion, if we’re coparenting a cat together. And those kids we can’t return.”

“Darcy,” he said.

“I’m not saying you need to make an honest woman out of me,” she said. “We can live in sin, if you want. Or Sweden.”

“Sweden?”

“Europeans are very blasé about matrimony now. They just have kids and shared, you know, bicycles,” she said, grinning. 

“Doesn’t really sound like me. I don’t think I’ve ridden a bicycle in thirty years,” he said.

“Oh, I am so resisting the urge to make a joke about riding things right now,” Darcy said.

“Go home, sweetheart,” he told her, leaning in for a second to kiss the top of her head. As she climbed into her car, she looked at him.

“I want you know that this is the first time that either this dress or the third date rule hasn’t worked for me,” she said. 

“Are you giving up on me?” he asked, feeling a tightness in his throat.

“Nope, I’m just going to keep chasing you until you realize you loved me all along,” she said.

“Isn’t that harrassment?” Brock asked. “Possibly stalking?”

“Is it really?” she said.

“I feel like it’s a felony, Lewis.”

“Possibly, but men have been doing it to women for decades,” she said, smirking. “It’s only fair if we get to chase you, Papadapoulos.” He sighed and looked away. “You do that looking sideways thing a lot, you know that, right?” Darcy said.

“I’m, uh, trying to figure out my escape route, if you’re chasing me,” he lied. It was a tell of his, leaning physically away when he was dealing with some difficult emotion or situation. “I’m, uh, going to run now,” Brock told her. 

“Okay,” she said, grinning. He’d turned to walk back when she rolled down her car window. “I forgot to mention that I’m also totally objectifying you like a nerd does a hot cheerleader,” she said. Brock turned back to see her leaning out of her car window.

“So, it’s an eighties movie?” he said, nodding and walking backwards for a few steps.

“And you’re totally the cheerleader,” she yelled.

“Uh-huh,” he said, laughing. 

  
  


“Well,” his mother said, when he went back in the restaurant. “Did you ask her out to dinner for real?”

“Ma, you know it’s more complicated than that,” he said, internally wondering if he should have.

“You have red lipstick all over your mouth,” she said. 

“Shit,” he said, getting a napkin from the hostess. Angela teased him relentlessly as they walked to his car. 

“The look on your face when she came up to the table!” she said, cackling.

“Anybody would make that face,” he complained, opening the car door. “I'm fucked,” he muttered in a lower voice.

“I heard that!” Angela yelled. He laughed. “I wouldn’t mind having her as a daughter in law,” she announced, as he got in the driver’s seat. 

“Oh yeah?” Brock said. He was trying to be calm.

“You’d have a job, though, keeping her,” his mother said. “No shortage of other men willing to take your place. You’d have to be a good husband.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Nice to know, Ma.”

  
  



	8. Holly Leaves and Christmas Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Brock was delivering a file to Maria Hill when he passed Jane and Darcy’s lab. It wasn’t purposeful, he told himself, this was just the quickest route back to his desk. “Hey, Jane,” he said, leaning in, “where’s Darcy and my favorite training client?” He meant the cat. He and Jane were on nodding terms, now that he stopped by to see Darcy and Noisy. She’d been asleep the entire time he carried her to the car and didn’t remember that, according to Darcy.

“She’s taking a mental health day,” Jane said.

“Something wrong?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing major,” Jane said, clicking her laptop keys. “Just some personal issues.”

“I didn’t upset her, did I?” he wondered aloud.

“Do you think you upset her?” Jane asked, sounding canny. She gave Brock a look.

“She’s upset because I haven’t asked her out,” he said. “Shit.”

“Why don’t you call her and ask her,” Jane suggested, making a face. She leaned in towards her screen, hunching. “What in the realms--?” 

“Good idea, Foster,” he said, “thanks.” 

“Sure,” Jane said, squinting at her laptop. “Hold on, come help me with moving this. It’s a two person job.”

“Yeah?” Brock said, moving forward obediently. 

He adjusted some of Jane’s machinery while she watched readouts on her laptop. “Ten degrees--no, wait, five degrees to the left,” she ordered. He moved carefully until she nodded.

“I’m sorry I upset Darcy,” he said, sighing. “Even my mother thought I should’ve asked her out.”

“Your mother?” Jane said, looking over her shoulder, expression surprised.

“She didn’t tell you? The three of us had dinner and, uh,” Brock said. “I should have followed up. Better, I mean.” He grimaced. “Things are...I don’t know.” Jane was looking at him incredulously.

“She’s met your mother?” Jane repeated.

“Ma called her,” he explained. “She likes Darcy.”

“Your mother likes Darcy, but you don’t? God, it’s me and Thor in reverse,” Jane muttered. She tapped her keys sharply. “Why are relationships so difficult?” she said, shaking her head. She wasn’t looking at him.

“I do,” Brock said. “I do like Darcy. She’s great, just...young and I’ve got issues,” he added. “With the scars and everything.” Jane scoffed and muttered. “What?” Brock said.

“Thor is fifteen hundred years old and from space,” she said. Her voice went sharp. “Also, his father thinks I’m a goat!” 

“A goat?” Brock repeated.

“So, please spare me your regular people problems, like oh, _ forty one is too old for Darcy _ or something,” Jane said. 

“I’m fifty,” Brock said. 

“Really?” Jane said, looking surprised.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. He rubbed his jaw and leaned an arm over the machine in front of him. “And I want kids, so I gotta start soon--”

“Oh forget it,” Jane said, turning back with a dismissive wave and struggling to find the pen tucked in her hair. “I forbid you to date my assistant.”

“What?” Brock said.

“She can’t get pregnant, I don’t have time for her to be gone, this project is high priority,” Jane said, shifting towards him again with a glare. “So, no, you can’t--and don’t lean on my stuff.” 

“Okay,” Brock said, holding his arms up. “No leaning.” He backed away.

“I notice you didn’t promise not to get my assistant pregnant!” she called out. A passing agent on the other side of the glass lab wall looked startled. Brock grinned at him.

“Nope,” he said to Jane. “Have a good afternoon, Foster!”

  
  


Brock called her as soon as he got back to his desk. “Hello?” Darcy said, sounding muffled.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Brock. Brock Rumlow. I, uh, stopped by the lab and you weren’t there--”

“Oh,” Darcy said. She made a sound. It was something like a loud sniffle. “Hello. I have a cold.”

“I thought you were mad at me,” Brock said. “Jane didn’t know you had a cold. Or that we had dinner.” He heard her laugh.

“Yes, she does know I have a cold, she must’ve been trying to get information out of you,” Darcy said. “She can be sneaky like that. She forbid me to come to work when she realized I had germs.”

“She also forbids me to date you, because she’s too busy for you to be pregnant,” he said, waiting carefully for her response. Darcy sighed. He heard a sound like she was wiggling in her blankets. Finally, she spoke.

“Well, it’s not like we’ve worked that out, Papadopoulos,” Darcy said, sounding glum. “Maybe she’s right? Maybe the timing’s just wrong...” Her voice trailed off. Brock stared at the phone.

“You think she’s right?” he said. He’d expected her to take Foster’s declaration as a challenge. Or at least laugh at it. He felt a weird pang of disappointment in his gut at her tone. 

“Well, this one’s really on you,” she said, pausing to blow her nose. He heard the loud honk and her apology to the cat. “Sorry, buddy. I scared him with my sneeze,” Darcy added, then sighed again and started to ramble. “I mean, look at those articles about men and deciding in under a minute if they want to have sex with somebody--”

“What?” he said. “How is this on me?”

“It’s a thing. A study thing,” she said, sniffling, “about how long a guy takes to decide if you’re cute enough to date or whatever. Fuck, really. The beauty industry really uses it to sell us Spanx and lipstick and hair extensions, so we’ll feel pretty enough, only you never feel pretty enough, you know? ‘Cause there’s always some rando on the internet calling Angelina Jolie ugly and so, you know you could never measure up, because she is stunning and probably has never accidentally walked around with spinach between her teeth--I mean, she was married to Billy Bob, which is weird, and also, there’s this whole thing where a guy can be scruffy, but--”

“Darcy,” he interrupted gently, “you’re rambling.”

“Oh,” she said. “It’s the decongestant, it makes me jittery and weird, sorry, sorry.”

“What if I come by and check on you after work?” he said.

“That would be nice,” she said. “But you don’t have to--I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“I want to,” he said. He realized that he did. “Besides, I don’t catch colds anymore. Serum.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

“After work,” he repeated. “I’ll see you then, okay?”

“You have a date?” Jack asked, sitting down at the desk next to Brock’s. 

“No,” he said. “That was Darcy. She’s got a cold. Just gonna stop in and check on her.”

“But it’s not a date,” Jack said, shaking his head. 

“She’s high on decongestants, it’s definitely not a date,” Brock said. He sighed. Jack sat up a little straighter.

“What in bloody hell was that?” Jack asked.

“What?”

“You sighed,” Jack said. “You said it wasn’t a date and you sighed, mate”--he grinned--“like you were disappointed.” He stressed the last word, smile wolfish. “You’re dating her now, aren’t you?” he asked.

“No,” Brock said. “I’m not. We’re, uh, friends. Besides, Foster’s opposed to Darcy settling down with someone who wants a family, so, uh--”

“Friends,” Jack scoffed. 

“We are,” Brock insisted.

“I’ll remember this moment in my best man’s speech,” Jack announced. “And remind you that whenever somebody makes a bloody joke around here, you look at Darce to see if she’s laughing first.”

“I do?” Brock said, surprised, then skeptical. “I don’t do that,” he amended. A passing agent Rodriguez laughed. “What?” Brock asked.

“He stole that from a meme,” Rodriguez said. “That’s a damn meme.”

“Jack,” Brock scolded. He made his voice serious. “How could you lie to me?”

“You babysit her bloody cat, it’s the same thing,” Jack said. “More or less.”

“Sure, sure,” he said dryly.

Brock stopped and bought soup and a bag of cat treats from the grocery store before he went to Darcy’s. His mother always said you should make a sick person soup, he remembered. He was checking out when he saw the balloons and flowers up front. “Hold on,” he said. The customer behind him groaned. “I’ll just be a sec, okay, pal? I got a sick, uh, sick friend,” Brock said. He bought one of the overpriced arrangements. 

“Wonderful,” the other customer said sarcastically, when he returned to finish his transaction.

“Yeah, I think so,” Brock said, smirking. “Thank you,” he told the clerk. He left the store feeling like he’d completed a mission: _ get soup, cat treats, Get Well Soon balloons. _His entire checklist.

Darcy answered the door in her bathrobe. Her eyes and nose were red. “Hi,” she said. “You brought me flowers?” she said, eyes widening in surprise.

“Get well soon,” he said. “The flowers, I mean. I thought I was going to have to punch a guy in line, sweetheart,” he explained, as she let him inside and shut the door behind him.

“What?” she said, voice strangely muffled from congestion.

“Some asshole,” he explained, bringing the stuff into her kitchen.. 

“I don’t follow,” she said, looking at him in confusion. Her eyes were glassy. He realized she was frowning.

“Honey,” he said gently, “you are sick. Come sit down. You hungry? I have soup.”

“Uhhhh,” Darcy said, but she let him lead her to the couch. The cat was curled up in several blankets and Brock had to move him so she could lay down again. She sank down into the pillows and looked at him sadly.

“I look awful,” she said. “And I looked so cute the last time you saw me!” Her voice was mournful.

“You look great,” he said. “The cutest sick woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” Darcy grumbled, patting her messy hair. “My nose is so red.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” he said, fixing her blankets. “Lemme get you that soup, huh?”

“Why are you smiling like that?” she asked.

“You said red,” he told her, smirking, “I was thinking about you in that dress.”

“Ughhhh,” she said. “I was so confident. It was hubris. Greek mythology 101 all over again,” Darcy told him, as he stood up and walked towards her microwave. 

“Explain that to me, sweetheart,” he asked, sure that she was spaced out from her cold meds. Was she talking about some legend?

“I was totally crushing on this guy named Alec Gregory in my mythology class, but like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun, and asked him out before I realized I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe,” she called out.

“Did he say no? That’s weak,” he told her, warming the soup in the microwave. “You have crackers?”

“The crackers are in the pantry. Second shelf.” He turned and spotted the door.

“Got ‘em. Tell me about Alec?” Brock said.

”He didn’t say no, but it cast a pall over our entire one-date relationship,” she joked. “I can see now that this will be the moment when you lose interest, because you’ve seen me in my comfiest bathrobe with a cold and that erases the good dress totally.”

“I wouldn’t say totally,” Brock said, opening a packet of crackers. She scoffed audibly. “It was a good fucking dress,” he said. He said it loudly enough for her to hear.

“Still on your mind, then?” she called out.

“I’m going to have to be your security at that party,” he said. “For your own protection.” He waited for her to laugh, but she was silent. Brock wished he could see her face. He cleared his throat. “Where’s your soup bowls?” he asked.

“Cabinet above the dishwasher,” she said.

She was eating the soup when she looked at him curiously. “How much trouble did I get you in with your mother, anyway?”

“None at all,” he said. He was sitting and the end of her couch, petting the cat. Darcy’s toes wiggled against his thigh. He grinned. She was wearing Christmas flamingo socks.

“You aren’t mad?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said. Noisy batted at the toy in his hand. “My mother likes you, remember,” he added, as she slurped soup. “Nothing but good things to say.” He swung the cat toy. Noisy swatted at it, then meowed piteously. She was watching them, then frowned.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “You’re the one who doesn’t like me so much.” 

“Your boss doesn’t like me,” he said lightly.

“She didn’t trust anybody from SHIELD for years, you’re probably lucky she hasn’t hit you with anything yet.”

“She glared at me because I leaned on her equipment,” Brock said. 

“That’s c-grade Jane hostility, really,” Darcy said. “Just average, everyday stuff.”

“She forbade me to date you,” he added.

“B-grade,” Darcy said, dipping her cracker. “But that’s no skin off your back.” He thought he heard resentment in her voice.

“No skin off my back,” he echoed lightly, then glanced at Darcy out of the corner of his eye. She was pushing her spoon around in her soup with more force than necessary. “You pouting?” he asked.

“What?” she said.

“I thought you said Jane was right,” he said, keeping his voice mild. “But you’re pouting.”

“I am not!” she said, clinking the spoon against her bowl.

“No?” he said. “All right.” He leaned back and put his arm over the back of the couch. He gazed around the living room. It was only late November, but she seemed like the decorating type. “No Christmas tree yet?”

“No,” Darcy said. “I have a fake tree, but it’s on the high shelf. I was gonna put it up this week, but….”

“You want me to get it for you before I go?” he offered.

“That would be nice,” she said softly. He got the tree box down while she was still eating. And her decorations box. “Thank you,” Darcy said. He looked at her and down at the boxes. She was obviously tired. Probably wobbly. 

“Where do you want this?” he said, opening the tree box.

“Huh?”

“I’ll put the tree up for you,” he said. “So you won’t have to do all that when you’re sick. You can just do the fun things, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she said. He laughed for a whole minute when he realized she had fake trees that were champagne and pink. “Shut up, they’re very fashionable,” Darcy insisted.

“Where? Dollywood?” he asked.

“I love Dolly,” Darcy said. “She’s amazing. Put the champagne one here, the pink one can go in my bedroom.”

“All right,” he said, still chuckling to himself. He put the tree together and then helped her with all the decorations, so she wouldn’t have to stand on a ladder. “Smart plan, getting shatterproof ornaments before the cat,” he told Darcy, as he unpacked them.

“Oh, no,” she said, “those are for me, really. I drop things.” Brock laughed. 

“At least you’re honest,” he said.

“I don’t really know how to be anyone else,” she said, in an unexpectedly serious voice. He thought she might be tired.

“What about some music?” he suggested. He thought that would cheer her up. It seemed to work. She played songs on one of her little speakers and he double-checked the lights. They circled the tree carefully, putting up ornaments together. He had fun, he could admit to himself. He didn’t usually have a tree at home. She seemed happier, too. They laughed and joked and she even convinced him to have some cocoa. 

“I have a long TED talk about this Christmas song, too,” she said, when he got his cup. 

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Elvis. It’s called _ Holly Leaves and Christmas Trees _ and I love it,” she said. “It’s a mood. Mostly, the mood is Vietnam, but one of the guys in Elvis’ entourage wrote it, Red West.”

“Red West,” Brock said, snorting a little.

“Brock Rumlow?” she teased back. He laughed.

“I thought we were getting married?” he said. “You don’t want my name now?”

“Darcy Rumlow,” she said, sounding it out. “It’s not bad, is it?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” he said. “Jane might disagree.”

“She likes to be contrary, it makes her feel good when she’s right about the science,” Darcy said, slurping her cocoa.

“You’ve got a chocolate mustache,” he said, grinning.

“Ahhh,” she said. 

When they were done, he tilted his head and looked at it. “Not bad, sweetheart,” he said. “You stay out of it,” he said to the cat. Noisy meowed.

“It’s beautiful,” Darcy told him, putting the cat down and gazing at the tree. “It’s so shimmery.”

“You’re high on cold meds,” he told her jokingly.

“Yeah, but you helped me,” she said. “You came to check on me and put up my Christmas tree.” That was when she stepped closer, looking at him, and leaned in to kiss him. He noticed the glassiness of her eyes and the high color in her cheeks. This time, he turned his head slightly and her lips met his cheek. 

“Darcy,” he said gently. “We’re--you’re not yourself.” He brushed aside a strand of her hair. Her forehead felt feverish to him. She looked at him for a moment, expression wounded, then ducked her head. “You’re sick, sweetheart,” he said, trying to explain himself. He didn’t know how to explain that the timing was all wrong. “This isn’t--not tonight, okay?”

“Not tonight?” she said. Her voice was upset. “Brock,” she said, leaning against his chest and taking a ragged, wheezy-sounding breath. He could tell she was blinking rapidly. She tried to smile, but it was a painful sight. Her smile twisted into something grief-stricken, lip trembling a little. “I--I think you should go.”

“Okay,” he said. “But if you start to feel worse, you call me all right?”

“Sure,” she said. 

"I'll go," he repeated, detaching himself gently. 

His ears might be mangled, but he heard her start to cry when she shut the door behind him. Loud, awful sobs. “Shit,” he muttered, pulling his coat in closer in the chill. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly Leaves and Christmas Trees: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wl4qZ4nkktM


	9. You Can't Date A Guy Named Jim Jones, All Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Fuck this,” Brock said. He’d made it halfway to his car when he couldn’t go any farther. He stopped. The problem was his goddamned mind. All in his head. He turned back. He tried to breathe calmly as he walked back to Darcy’s door. He knocked firmly. “Darcy,” he called out, when he heard her shuffling around inside, “it’s me, baby.”

“Go away,” she yelled through the door. “You upset me!”

“I know, honey,” he said. “I fucked up, okay? Let me in, we’ll talk, all right?” He waited a moment, then heard her turn the deadbolt and she opened the door a crack. A sliver of her face was visible.

“What do you even want to say?” she said, red eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that...Can I come in?” 

“Fine,” she muttered, opening the door again. He moved inside and then locked the door behind him. 

“It’s cold out there,” he said, trying to buy time, “you got your heat on?”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “I’m crying and you’re asking me about the heating and air?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You--you asswipe!” she yelled. From the couch, the cat meowed. “Yeah,” Darcy said, “what the cat said!”

“What the cat said?” he repeated. Brock couldn’t help himself: the tableau of the girly Christmas tree, an angry Darcy in her bathrobe, and the cat were too much. He grinned. Darcy sputtered, starting to yell at him again, but he closed the distance between them and cupped her face.

“Wha--?” she began.

“Come here,” he said, “I’m going to hug you, even though I fucking hate hugging people. And then we’re going to fix you up some.”

“Fix me up?” she said archly.

“Take care of you, I mean,” he amended, pulling her in close. “I’m sorry, I was stupid,” he whispered in her ear. “You want more cocoa?”

“I dunno,” she said, muffled against him. “I feel yucky and I have a killer headache, all thanks to you.”

“Yeah,” he said, sighing heavily and rubbing her back. “I’m an asswipe.” To his surprise, she started to giggle against his neck.

“You are,” Darcy said. “I should be more mad at you right now. Why do I even like you, anyway?”

“I’m sad, old guy and you feel bad for me. Also, I have a very charming mother,” he said dryly. 

“That’s true,” she admitted, face still against his neck. “I like your mother.”

He convinced her to take a shower. While she was in the bathroom, he warmed up some clean blankets in her dryer, made her another cocoa, and found movies for her to watch. When she emerged in pajamas and her hair wrapped in a towel, he looked up. “What?” Darcy said.

“You like the Grinch?” he said.

“You know I do,” she said. “I like you, don’t I?” she added under her breath. He laughed and pointed to her blankets.

“Settle in,” he said. “And give me that.” He meant her towel. She wiggled under several of the blankets and made a happy sound. 

“I love warm blankets,” she said. Smiling, he took her towel and dried her hair. It gave him ideas. 

“You got a comb around here?” he asked.

“Bathroom counter,” she said. He stood. “Why? Where are you going now, asswipe?” Brock laughed. He snagged the comb and one of the hair oils on her countertop. It smelled like flowers.

“Are you actually combing my hair?” Darcy said incredulously, when he sat down behind her. She gave him a look.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m braiding your hair, Lewis. I used to do this for Fal--my sister, Fallon, when she was little. She’s younger than me by, shit, uh, eleven years?” he explained.

“Brock Rumlow knows how to braid hair?” she said, laughing.

“Drink your cocoa, I was a good brother back then. Also, I broke some guys’ noses when they gave me shit about it,” he said.

“Back then?” Darcy said. “You’re not now?” He sighed.

“When I was working undercover, I avoided spending time with Ma and Fal and her kids. Avoided family stuff. Pretended we didn’t get along, because I didn’t want Pierce to get leverage over me,” he explained. “If he knew I cared about them, he had something on me.” She got quiet and he worked in silence. He was rusty, but he got the hang of it quickly. He thought Darcy was calmer, too. Her breathing was slow and even. If he touched her more than was strictly necessary, she didn’t seem to notice. “You’ve got a lot of hair, sweetheart,” he said. She made a noncommital noise.

“But how did you learn how to braid hair?” she asked suddenly. “Your mom?” He laughed. 

“Fuck no. I sweet talked girls my age into teaching me,” he said. “Got laid a lot that way. Another reason I had to punch guys in the nose. They were jealous.”

“Pfffht,” Darcy said. “Doesn’t want to sleep with me…” she muttered. He thought she was talking to the cat, who appeared to be contemplating an attack on her toes. She was wiggling them under the blankets. Noisy batted lazily and Brock grinned.

“I never said that,” he said. “You take everything I say in the worst possible way tonight, you know that? What the fuck’s that about?”

“Bite me,” Darcy said. “I don’t have to be happy all the time, just ‘cause I’m generally happy.” He smiled at the petulance of her tone. “Why should you get the benefit of me being nice to you?” she asked.

“All right,” he said. “Fair point. My turn.” 

“What?” she said.

“My turn to be nice to you,” he said. He’d been wondering when she’d stop being so obliging and patient with him. She _ had _been patient. Easy going. And now she was upset and he felt something between guilt and tenderness. He hadn’t expected that he’d feel this way when she was upset with him. They lapsed into a comfortable silence again. On the television, the Grinch’s dog narrowly avoided being mowed down by an errant sleigh. “You’re sad ‘cause you’re sick, but we’re gonna get you back in shape,” he said calmly. He gazed down at her long, dark hair. “This’ll take all night, though. You got more hair than two or three women.”

“Shut up, my hair is pretty,” she said. “Everyone says so.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” he told her. She had beautiful hair. He said so.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Brock woke up with a sharp sensation in his neck. “Uhhh,” he murmured, blinking slowly. He lifted his head a fraction. That was when he realized that he’d fallen asleep on Darcy’s couch. With Darcy. The reason he felt the ghost of pain---post-serum, he was more impervious--was because he’d contorted his body to accomodate her on the narrow couch. They were entwined: Darcy’s face was pressed against his neck, her arms tucked around him, one leg wrapped over his knee. He’d been holding her in his sleep. She felt very relaxed in his arms. Comfortable. He moved his neck slightly and she wiggled more closely to him. He sighed and tried not to think about how soft her breasts felt against his chest. How easy it would be to start something by kissing her or touching her. He needed to wake her up, he thought, before his dick got any ideas. Any more ideas. “Sweetheart,” he said. His voice was hoarse. He must’ve snored. He cleared his throat. “Darcy,” he said.

“Mmmmm,” Darcy said. She opened her eyes and then shut them again.

“Wake up, baby,” he said.

“No,” she said. “I’m sick. Don’t make me get up.”

“You can go to bed, but I gotta go to work, honey,” he said. “Fury’ll send somebody looking for me if I bail on our meeting today.” In response, she clung to him more.

“One day,” she said in a sleepy voice, “you’re going to be mad at yourself for not spending the day snuggling me.”

“Yeah?” he said, chuckling. “I guess I will.” She sounded better than last night. He moved to try and lift her up. 

“Especially when I’m married to someone else,” she said, shifting to roll off him. She nearly rolled off the couch.

“Whoa,” he said, catching her. “Watch out.”

“Ughhh,” she said. “What the hell?”

“Lemme help you,” he said, half sitting up and then holding onto her waist, so she could wiggle her legs off the couch without falling. “Which someone else?” he asked. She looked down at his arm around her belly, blinking.

“I fell asleep in my contacts. Somebody without arms like yours,” she said, sounding sad. “Like Ian.” She rubbed his forearm.

“Not Ian,” he said, distracted by the way she was touching him. He’d read her ex’s file. “Ian was all wrong for you,” he said

“You don’t like him?” she asked, half turning to look back at him. Then she grinned. “Unless I ask out that guy on STRIKE Epilson, what’s his name? The one who’s Clint’s friend, Tulsa something?” She was still stroking his arm.

“Tulsa Jones is a gum-chewing moron who wears fucking cowbody hats,” Brock said sharply. 

“But he probably has nice arms,” she said, making no move to get out from under his arm. She was tracing his tattoo with her index finger.

“His real name is Jim. Jim fucking Jones,” he said. “You can’t date him.” He wished he could take it back as soon as he said it, but Darcy smirked. 

“You’re jealous,” she teased. She smiled at him wickedly.

“Fuck no--” he began, but stopped when she leaned against him, tucking her head under his chin. “What are you doing?” he said.

“Being affectionate,” she said, nose pressed against his neck. “I’d kiss you, but you don’t like that.” He felt her drag her nose against the stubble on his neck and shivered. He grunted, without meaning to, then cleared his throat.

“That, uh,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Your skin always feels so nice,” she told him, voice warm. 

“My skin feels nice?” he said skeptically. Nobody thought his scarred skin was nice. She nodded against his neck, nose brushing against him again. 

“Almost velvety. And usually, you smell so good to me,” she said.

“Usually?” Brock said. “Am I sweaty or something?” 

“No, I can’t smell you, my nose is all stuffy,” Darcy said in a sad voice. He felt her lips touch his collarbone, sending a jolt of warmth through his body. God, he wanted her.

“Baby,” he said, feeling like putty in her hands again. “I really do need to go to work.” 

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll get up, I’ll get up.” She pulled back and he immediately regretted it. He kept his hands on her waist to help her stand. But he was glad that she turned and had her back to him as she padded into the kitchen. “I’ll make you coffee,” she called. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, disentangling himself from her blankets. Maybe she hadn’t noticed how fucking hard he was. “I’m gonna shower, okay?” he called, moving towards her bathroom.

“Sure!” she said, rummaging in the kitchen. “I like my hair,” she called out. “You’ve got talented hands, Commander!”

“Good,” he choked out, shutting the bathroom door. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. He turned on the water and palmed at his crotch with a shudder. He needed to be quiet. And get out of his clothes. 

When the water hit his body, he moaned. “You okay?” Darcy called.

“I’m--I’m fine,” he stuttered out, gripping his dick. He needed to be very fucking quiet.

  
  
  


“What’s wrong with you, mate?” Jack said, as they walked into a meeting that morning. Brock wasn’t sure how Jack had known, but he felt distracted and out of sorts. He looked around before leaning into speak to the Australian. They were standing at the front of the auditorium.

“I spent the night at Darcy’s last night,” Brock said quietly.

“Finally---” Jack began, but he cut him off.

“We didn’t sleep together, we just, uh, fell asleep on her couch. She’s sick, I told you. Has a cold.”

“Huh,” Jack said. “And that’s upsetting you?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he said. “I feel like--fuck, I don’t know. If I was this indecisive in the field, I’d be dead,” he muttered. Two agents walked in front of them. “She’s so…” he said and then couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Yeah,” Jack said, starting to laugh. “Woman’s got you all turned around.” He grinned, a shark-like expression that seemingly alarmed one of the techs in the front row, Brock thought. The tech cringed a little. 

“Yeah,” Brock admitted. “She does.” He wasn’t going to admit to jerking off in her shower, though. He wasn’t giving Jack a reason to fucking gloat. 

“Whipped,” Jack said, chuckling. Brock sighed and leaned against the wall, surveying the other agents as they walked in. 

“Yeah.” Why was he resisting, he wondered? Wouldn’t it be easier just to give into his attraction? He liked her, she liked him. They could be happy…._ for maybe ten years, _ a sour voice in the back of his head cut in, _ when you’re sixty and she’s forty. Probably she’ll still look thirty and be tired of you, old man. _Brock sighed again. He could tell Jack was looking at him.

“Cunt-struck,” Jack said casually.

“Yea--hey, watch your damn mouth,” Brock scolded. “What the fuck is wrong with the language in your country?”

“What?” Jack said in a mock-innocent voice. “Something offensive, mate?”

“You know damn well we don’t say that word in this country,” Brock said in a low voice. “I don’t want you saying that about her, either.”

“It’s a bad one, eh?” Jack said. That gave him away to Brock.

“Shut the fuck up, I know you’re fucking with me,” Brock said. “I got real problems here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “A beautiful, intelligent, single woman likes you, so difficult.”

“Listen--” Brock said.

“I’ve heard she can even read and write, it’s a bloody miracle,” Jack said, rolling his neck so it popped.

“You know that annoys the hell out of me,” Brock complained.

“Too right,” Jack said in a cheerful voice. “You want gum?” He retrieved a packet from his tactical pants. Brock grimaced and shook his head. He hated gum. Jack popped it obnoxiously and Brock cut his eyes at the other man. “Something wrong?” Jack asked.

“You think, uh, ten years from now, we’d still look okay together?” Brock wondered out loud. “Not like…”

“What?” Jack said.

“Like she’s my goddamned home healthcare worker,” Brock said in a low voice. Jack laughed so loudly that it drew the attention of the rest of the room. 

  
  


He ran into Jane that afternoon in the cafeteria. Actually, she sat down at his table, expression serious, during lunch. “Something wrong?” Brock said.

“If you harm my assistant in any way, I will portal you to Jotenheim,” she said, stabbing a green bean with a surprising viciousness for such a small woman. “I mean that. If you cheat or abandon her or anything--”

“Okay,” Brock said slowly. Jack and several of the STRIKE agents were trying not laugh. “Foster,” he began, intending to say that he wouldn’t hurt Darcy’s feelings. Or try not to hurt her feelings. Jane cut him off.

“Because she actually likes you,” Jane said. She chewed, looking thoughtful. “I could probably work out a pregnancy schedule--”

“What?” Brock said, blinking in surprise.

“I get invited to a lot of conferences from February to May and August to November,” Jane said. “It would be better for her to take maternity leave then.”

“You want Darcy to plan getting pregnant around your travel?” Brock said.

“People do that with their jobs all the time,” Jane said, shrugging.

“Too right,” Jack said, looking pleased with himself. “The two of you could plan it all out.”

“I might actually want to go on a real date with Darcy first,” Brock said. "Before we plan all that."


	10. Everything's Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Brock stopped at a grocery store before he went to check on her and Noisy after work. A tired-looking Darcy opened the door. She was holding the cat. “You’re back?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.” He gestured with the grocery bag. “I brought, uh, food.”

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.” He thought he heard voices. 

“Somebody here?”

“Podcast,” Darcy said, letting him in. “I’m feeling a little sleepy.”

“Go lay down,” he said gently. He watched, amused, as she shuffled over to the couch and plopped down. Crumpled tissues were strung along the coffee table. She probably needed trash clean up, he thought. “I’ll, uh, warm you up something, and, uh, do stuff.” 

“Do stuff?” she said. 

“Litterbox, trash, that kind of stuff,” he told her gently. 

“Ughhhhhh,” Darcy said. “Why won’t you marry me? Why?”

“Are you impersonating Nancy Kerrigan?” Brock said.

“Oh, good, you remember that. Yes, I am. Whyyyyyy, Brock, whyyyyyyy?” she bleated. “You’re breaking my heart just like Tonya’s ex-husband’s bodyguard tried to break Nancy’s career. Whyyyyyyyyyyy?” 

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head.

“I get loopier when I’m sick,” Darcy said. “My brain’s all scrambled, I’m home alone, Dr. Phil is on, things go a little wonky up in my brainbox, okay?”

“A little?” Brock said dryly. 

“Mahhhhh, mean, Papadopoulos,” she said, sticking out her tongue. Brock started laughing.

“Keep your germs to yourself, Lewis,” he told her. “I’m warming up your soup. I got you chicken orzo with lemon.”

“Orzo,” she muttered dreamily.

“You’re really going to want to marry me once you try it,” he said jokingly.

“I would marry someone for pasta,” she said. “Or good socks.”

“I’m glad your criteria’s all sorted,” Brock said.

“Those are important in a partner,” she insisted. “Food and warmth.”

“Duly noted, Lewis.” 

She’d finished her soup and was dozing on the couch when her phone rang. Brock answered it, thinking it was Jane or maybe Darcy’s family. “Hello?” he said. The cat was twined between his ankles begging for food.

“I’m calling for Darcy,” a male voice said. A familiar male voice.

“Jones?” Brock said.

“Who is this?” he said. It was Tulsa fucking Jones, Brock thought.

“Rumlow,” he said.

“Oh. I got the wrong number or something?” Jones said.

“No,” Brock said, voice clipped. “She’s asleep.”

“I’m not, I’m awake,” Darcy said, picking her head up. Her braid was a little flyaway. “Gimme, gimme, Brock.” She held her hand out. Sighing, he passed her the phone. He moved into the kitchen to feed the cat. He was looking for the cat food when he heard Darcy laugh. “I can’t, Tulsa,” she said, sounding playful. “I’m really sick. Seriously. I am! I can’t even line dance when I’m not sick, all right?” 

“You want food?” he repeated to the cat. Brock found the cat food and opened it. The cat was meowing loudly. He took his time running the can opener, casually glancing at Darcy on the couch. When the noise stopped, Darcy was having to half-shout into the phone. 

“No, no. He and I are just friends.” She got quieter. “He’s my cat’s trainer and fitness expert, too. I can’t train a cat, I’m too vulnerable to sad faces and food cravings,” Darcy said. There was a pause while she laughed at his reply and then had a tiny coughing fit. 

“You okay, Darcy?” Brock called. 

“Yeah!” she said. “I’m fine, Brock.”

“You sure?” he said. “I’ll get you water.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, still coughing, as he handed her a glass.

“Sip slowly, sweetheart,” he said warmly. She looked at him in surprise. Then she grinned. 

She was off the phone when Brock emptied the trash and cleaned out the litter box. He was scrubbing his hands in the sink when she said his name. “Yeah?” he called. “You need something?” He came into the living room carrying a throw from her closet. “Another blanket?” She looked at him from the couch.

“You fed my cat and emptied my trash,” she said, as he draped a blanket over her.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re sick.” She wiggled under the throw. “You want something else to drink?”

“Sure,” Darcy said. “Can I have cinnamon tea?” He laughed. 

“You said that just like a kid,” he said. “Where’s your cinnamon tea?”

“Cabinet with my hot chocolate,” she explained. He thought she might be feeling tired. He brought her tea and sat at the other end of her couch. 

“Tired?” he said. She nodded, sipping.

“Tulsa just asked me out on a date,” she said. “And then asked if I wanted to go to the Christmas party.” Brock sighed and looked at his hands. They were on resting on his knees. He didn’t know what to say. He rubbed his jaw.

“If you--you wanna go with him, go,” he told Darcy. “I won’t be upset.”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“I’m not upset, Darcy,” he said, feeling his shoulders tense. 

“You look upset,” she said, wiggling her toes. They brushed his leg.

“All right,” he huffed. “I’d be fucking upset if he was there doing his  _ woo-hoo I got a cowboy hat  _ bullshit routine, but that’s my problem, not your problem.”

“Woo-hoo?” she said, grinning. 

“And the goddamn shiny belt buckle, Jesus H. Christ,” Brock said. “He dresses like that guy from the seventies, the cowboy cop--”

“Cowboy cop?” Darcy said, frowning.

“McQueen?” he said. She picked up her phone and tapped.

“McCloud! I’ve seen reruns of that show,” she said. “Dennis Weaver. That was a fun show. Did you know he was a vegetarian, according to Wikipedia?”

“You need Nyquil or something,” Brock said.

“I don’t want Nyquil,” she grumbled, smile falling. “I want you to take me to the Christmas party, you annoying, annoying man.”

“I don’t wanna take you to that fucking party--” he began, before she cut him off.

“Fine!” she yelled.

“I want--” he said, but she threw a couch pillow at him. “Darcy, I’m trying to ask you out on a fucking date here,” he said.

“W-what?” she said.

“I don’t want to go to that party, but I, uh, want to go to dinner. As soon as you feel well enough,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“Also, Jane thinks we should have a baby around her conference schedule,” he added, smirking.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Surprise, surprise,” he said. “How many kids you want?”

“I, uh, I hadn’t really thought about it,” she said, looking suddenly nervous. He grinned. 

“Think about it,” he told her. “See how you like it when I’m chasing you around?”

“Phhft,” she said, “show me the receipts.” He laughed for real then. She fell asleep soon after that, a faint smile on her face. He was waking her up to move to her to bed when she asked him if he’d really asked her out. She’d fallen asleep and her eyes were heavy. “Was that real or did I dream it?” she said.

“Very real,” he said.

“Oh, good,” she said, beaming. Then she looked sly. “If you don’t want to go to the Christmas party with me, can I go with Tulsa?” Her voice was teasing.

“Go with the cowboy,” he grumbled. “He likes to dance, which is bullshit--” Darcy started to laugh.

“Papadopolous, you are very silly,” she said. “Where’s the cat?”

“He’s trying to scale your Christmas tree,” he said.

“He’s fascinated by shiny things, just like me,” Darcy said.

  
  



	11. Second First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I own nothing! Earning our M-rating with this chapter.

They made plans for the first date a few days later. She felt well enough, she said. Brock wanted to pick her up, but Darcy insisted on meeting him at the place. He was drumming on the table, body strangely tense, when she walked in. His eyes moved from her smiling face down her body as she moved towards him. She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn on the blind date Jack had set them up on. “Hello,” Darcy said, “you’re Jack’s friend?”

“Very cute,” Brock said dryly. How had he not realized how gorgeous she was the first time? That full mouth curved in a welcoming, kissable smile. It was difficult not to want to touch her, he thought; it registered that her sweater draped softly over her breasts and he wanted to run his hands through her dark curls. He half stood, smirking. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, wiggling her eyebrows. There was something in her expression--playfulness mixed with something he couldn’t identify. “So, Commander,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Tell me how you ended up on this date?” she asked. Brock laughed. It took him a moment to stop.

“Because I’m a complete idiot,” he said. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said. “I’ve just heard you can be a little stubborn.”

“I’m working on it,” he said. “You feel like wine?”

“That would be fantastic,” Darcy said. When the waiter came to take their order, she watched him carefully. She was sipping some of a blush pink when he realized what the emotion was as it flitted across her face.

“You’re happy,” he said, dumbfounded. “You’re happy because we’re on a date? We’re together all the time.” Darcy burst out laughing. She beamed at him.

“No, I’m happy because you finally _ asked _me out on a date, it’s a subtle but important difference.”

“Subtle but important, huh?” he said, rubbing his jaw and feeling the scars there to ground himself. Her full smile was something else.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “You know how everyone says Greta Garbo said she wanted to be alone?” Darcy said.

“The old movie star?” he said, frowning. He didn’t follow.

“You’re one to talk,” she said, still smiling, “but yes, Garbo the movie star.” She reached across and put her hand over his. “But she didn’t say she wanted to be alone.”

“She didn’t,” Brock said. “But--” 

“She said she wanted to be _ left _alone,” Darcy said. “Big difference between the two. Like the difference between spending time with someone and knowing they want to date you."

“Yeah,” he said. He was going to speak again when they were interrupted by the waiter. 

“So,” Darcy said, after they ordered. There was a wicked glint in her eye. “Tell me about yourself, Commander Rumlow.” Brock laughed.

“Oh, I think you know plenty,” he said.

“Don’t dodge the question,” she said. He inhaled and tilted his head.

“You really want to do this?” he teased. She nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m waiting.”

“And I shouldn’t keep you waiting--even if you’re very patient.” They exchanged smiles.

“I’m willing to give you time to think,” Darcy said warmly. Brock grinned.

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll, uh, give you the sanitized version if you give me too much leeway, sweetheart. I want to be honest with you.”

“Honesty’s good,” Darcy said. “For example, if I’m honest, I have an exercise-intolerant cat and a genuine fondness for those goofballs at Buzzfeed Unsolved, which is maybe a little embarrassing,” she said. Brock nodded. “What about you?” Darcy said.

“Me?” he said.

“Eventually, we do have to discuss you,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling slowly. “Honestly?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said.

“Okay,” he said. “Lemme refill your wine glass--”

“Cheating,” she said.

“--and then I’ll start,” he said. She swished her head a little and waited. He poured. Looked at her. They shared a moment of eye contact, then dropped his eyes to her body. She blushed a fraction. He realized he liked that.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she said, without malice. She’d said in a low, soft voice.

“So, if I ask you to come home with me tonight, you’d be game?” he said.

“Mmmm,” she said.

“That’s a yes, huh?” Brock said.

“Possibly,” Darcy said.

“Good. Because I am, uh, hopelessly fucking in love with you,” he told her, smirking. “I even like it when you yell at me in that ratty goddamn bathrobe.”

“Oh,” she said, coyness turning to surprise. Then her lips curled up in a mad expression. “Why’d you keep pushing me away then?” she said. Her voice was soft. He looked away for a second, eyes on his wine glass.

“I’m scared,” he said quietly. “I’m fucking terrified, you know that? You weren’t the plan. I was supposed to find some responsible woman--”

“Boring,” Darcy cut in. “You were going for boring.”

“Yes, a boring and appropriate woman to settle down with,” he said. “Somebody I liked, but not somebody who could wrap me around their little finger. A partnership, not a love story. Something straightforward, pragmatic.” At her disgruntled sound, he smirked. “And then you show up, determined to make me love you--” he began.

“You wouldn’t even ask me out!” she said, puffing up a little in affront. She slapped her hand lightly on on the table, apparently frustrated.

“Because then you’ve got me,” he said, dragging his knuckles gently down her arm. He noticed her shiver. That was thrilling. “And I was afraid I’d be done, ruined for anyone else,” he added. “I’m lucky I’m old, you’ll outlive me.”

“Well, maybe I still dump you after date five because you’re so wishy washy,” she said, grinning. “What do you do then?”

“Miss you,” he said. “Every fucking day.” He toyed with her fingers. “Develop a lot of bad coping mechanisms.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Darcy asked.

“I'd drink too much, stand outside your apartment in the rain ‘til you call the cops, volunteer for the most dangerous jobs,” he said. She shook her head.

“You’d find your Ms. Boring, probably,” Darcy told him. She looked up at him. “Someone appropriate, have a couple of kids.” Her voice was arch. 

“No,” he said, “not me. I’ve said it now, it’s out there, I can’t take it back.” He swallowed, then leaned down to whisper. “So,” he said softly, “what do you say?” She inhaled a little roughly and he took the moment to press kisses into her hand. He felt her shiver again when he turned her hand to put his mouth gently against her palm. 

“Yeah,” she said, “yes.” 

“You wanna get out of here?” he offered. She nodded.

  
  


He was still dressed when he slipped his hand between her legs. “Fuck, Brock,” Darcy said. He’d stripped her pants and underwear off as they kissed on her bed. She was wet already.

“On your knees,” he said, smirking in her ear and seizing the back of that damn sweater to steer her further onto the bed. He felt like himself. His pre-Triskelion self. Confident, maybe a little arrogant. But he was going to make her come. He could do that still.

“You--you ass,” she said, but there was a note of joy in her voice. He heard it, even in the dark.

“You love me,” he said roughly, unbuttoning his pants. “Don’t you?” he said. It was a question. He paused.

“Yes,” she stuttered. 

“And you want me?” He was at the edge of her entrance, his dick straining, but he wanted to hear more of her voice.

“Mmmm,” she said, nodding. "Please." He pushed into her. She was tight with tension and nervous excitement. It felt incredible. He squeezed her hips with his scarred hands. “You feel so good,” she murmured. 

“Remember that tomorrow,” he told her, beginning to move. “When you ache.”

“Ahhh,” she shrieked, then gulped. Her first moan thrilled him. He pushed harder, wanting more of the friction between them, more of the sounds she was making. But it was nothing compared to how he felt when she clenched around him, trembling as she came. His own orgasm made him feel heavy and dazed. They collapsed together, bodies shaking and sweaty. He was still in most of his clothes.

“You like that, huh?” he said, grinning at her and kissing the side of her face.

“What--what have I done?” she wondered out loud.

“Reminded me that I’m broodingly attractive and you--what was it? Need my protection?” he teased. She laughed. 

“Oh God, you’re going to kill me with sex,” Darcy said.

“I’ll take care of the cat,” he said, massaging her nipple under the sweater. She arched a little, sighing. 

"Ooooh---bad Brock!" she said, laughing, as he twisted. 


	12. Office Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Holding that glass tight, mate?” Jack said, sidling up to Brock at SHIELD’s Christmas party.

“The fucking glass is fine,” Brock said dryly. He sipped, but his eyes were focused on Darcy a few feet away. She was being taught how to line dance by a cowboy-hatted Tulsa Jones. She and Jane and several other agents.  _ Stomp  _ went their boots on the floor, as the line swiveled sideways to the tune of some fucking awful country song. _Boot-scoot-fucking-what,_ Brock thought? He was really fucking grateful to be from New York. Otherwise, he might think twangy music and Tulsa’s long, floppy hair were cool or some shit. He shook his head, then stopped when Jack looked too knowing.

“So, you’re fine?” Jack said, in his  _ I’m Australian and I’m casually fucking with you  _ voice.

“Absolutely fine,” Brock said. “She’s going home with me tonight. Or I’m going home with her.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said.

“The cat’s at her place,” Brock explained. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. Darcy almost tripped and Jones had to catch her. Brock heard her embarrassed thank you as Tulsa steadied her. “The cat.”

“I like the cat,” Brock said. “We‘re taking him to meet my mother, as soon as he’s lost another half-pound. I gotta get those tactical gloves to trim his nails.” 

“You’re very domestic, for a guy who wasn’t interested when I first set you up,” Jack said.

“I was depressed,” Brock said.

“No shit,” Jack said.

“She dragged me out of it,” Brock said. He smiled at her, feeling his scars stretch. She waved. 

“Love you!” she yelled across the floor, cracking up. Darcy lit up when she laughed. 

“Uh-huh,” Jack said. “That was kinda the point--” Brock ignored him and blew Darcy a kiss. “Very cute,” Jack said.

“You gave Tulsa Jones her number, didn’t you, Crocodile Dundee?” Brock said wryly.

“Possibly,” Jack said, smirk falling away. 

“That’s all right,” Brock said, reaching over to squeeze Jack’s shoulder with all his serum-enhanced strength. “I got a real big knife in my boots, too,” Brock added.

“There are witnesses,” Jack said. “Lots of ‘em.”

“You remember that stabbing in Mozambique? That politician thought he’d been punched in the back in a crowd,” Brock said, voice calm. “Didn’t even realize it was a knife for hours and hours.”

“Darcy would be upset--” Jack was saying, when Brock grinned.

“Merry Christmas, Jack,” he said, clapping him on the back. Jack winced. “Don’t be so nervous pal,” Brock added. He tilted his head. “What have you got to be afraid of?” 

-The End-


End file.
